The Clock

by Kathryn Wise

  How could Grayson not have seen the readouts? Were they for her eyes only? And why her?

  “I can’t believe what I’m about to say. Grayson, listen to me. I saw the totality of real-time transmissions across the world’s social media infrastructures all in one view. This means that the group of four already has the key. Or something like it. Better yet, the real key. And that the one Priestly wears around her neck is like a ‘knock-off.’ It makes sense. Think about it. When you walk into the Virtual Life building, all the natural light has been cut off and replaced with those super expensive lighting systems. The lighting systems themselves are beautiful to look at, but they cast harsh and unflattering shadows, unlike the beauty revealed by natural light. Just like their version of the key. They’re trying to achieve the same kind of all knowing transcendence through their one-off version of the ‘real’ key.”

  Rachel put her head down on the table, her face cradled in her hands.

  Grayson cleared his throat. “You know Priestly is the master mind behind this, right?”

  Rachel sat up and stroked the side of her face, her mind’s eye watching the pieces converge into a clearer picture. “Yes, you’re right. And I think I’ve got our pitch for tomorrow.”

  “What are you thinking?” Grayson asked.

  “What’s the last thing Priestly would want to do right now?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  All at Once

  “Delicious meal, kind sir,” Rachel said, smiling across the table at Grayson, who was sporting a speck of halibut near the corner of his mouth. She made the polite motion for him to wipe his face. He didn’t get it. She did it again. He still didn’t get it.

  “Is your chin itchy?” Grayson asked.

  “No. I’m trying to be polite. You have a piece of fish on your chin,” Rachel said, chuckling at his momentary obtuseness.

  Grayson wiped his mouth. “Did I get it?”

  Rachel nodded, smiling as she chewed.

  “Thanks. I did that on purpose. I didn’t want you to think I was perfect.”

  “Uh huh. Clever guy, you are.”

  “Oh my gosh, it’s nearly 9:30. We should probably start wrapping things up. I want to be fresh for tomorrow, don’t you?” Grayson asked.

  “Absolutely. I’ll text Charles. He can send Peter to pick me up.”

  After she sent the message, Rachel cleared the plates from the table and began loading the dishwasher. Grayson did a little jog across the room and turned the sound system on. Next thing Rachel knew, Super Freak by Rick James filled the apartment.

  “You’ve got be kidding me. Rick James? Good grief. All right. I’m in,” Rachel said. She took off her shoes and skipped into the open area of the living room floor. Grayson jumped over an ottoman, joining her without missing a beat.

  “See, isn’t this great? We’re working off the dessert! No guilt tomorrow morning,” Grayson shouted over the music.

  Thump thump thump

  He ran to turn the volume down. “Oops…I guess it’s late. Sorry, it’s my neighbor upstairs. We’ll have to do this another time.”

  “That’s all right…it was one of the best 20 second dances I’ve ever had,” Rachel said.

  The apartment landline rang. “Michael Raphael. Yes, thank you. She’ll be down in a few minutes.”

  “Is Peter here?” Rachel asked.

  “Not quite yet. He called ahead to tell the doorman he’s about ten minutes away. Let me make a copy of the list. You might want to study it later tonight, or whatever you do that makes you so smart.” Grayson grabbed the working papers and went into the den.

  Rachel considered the data readout view as impossibly transcendent, a phenomenon beyond her capacity to understand. But she also knew she needed to try with her whole heart to press into the mystery, as frightening and painful as it might be for her, and possibly for Grayson. Rachel felt a stirring within, calling her to lean into a present and profound calm. She knew something was coming her way.

  Grayson came out of the den, copies in hand. “Here you go. Are you ready? I can go down with you.”

  “Yep, I’m ready. Thank you so much for the lovely dinner and conversation,” Rachel said.

  “And…?”

  “And…work?” Rachel asked.

  “And…?”

  She wasn’t tracking. Grayson smirked in exasperation.

  “Oh! The dance! Thank you for the dance!”

  “You’re very welcome. Do you want a scarf for the ride home? It’s pretty cold out there.”

  “Sure, that would be nice.” Grayson went to the bedroom. Rachel quickly checked her purse for her weapon, and her jacket pocket for the key case. Both were in place.

  “Here you go, Ms. Rachel. Ready?”

  She nodded. The cooler temperature of the dimly lit hallway prompted her to put on Grayson’s scarf and button her jacket. The cashmere felt soft against her neck, reminding her that she’d be spending the night in her new hotel digs. Something else to look forward to.

  They proceeded down the quiet hallway, turned a corner, and entered the elevator alcove where one open car was waiting. She stepped inside with Grayson close behind, turned to face forward, and felt the interior begin its transformation as the doors closed. The smell of roses and rich mahogany filled the small space, the gold hand-railings sparkling with familiarity. She looked at Grayson, who shrugged in response to her questioning brow. The elevator car hadn’t moved, yet she heard a rising and beautiful sound of music. Violins, cellos, a soft and emotional flute. The music grew louder, and then a voice. Singing. Operatic. An aria. Her thoughts went back to so many missions, strapped into her seat, waiting for take off. She’d put her headphones on and listen to Kiri Te Kanawa singing Puccini, her beautiful voice calming Rachel as she prayed through the liftoff.

  “Agent Blaine, please proceed with the security protocol,” said some ethereal voice. The interior went awash with light, enabling Rachel to better see Grayson move through the mesmerizing protocols he’d carried out that first time. After he finished, they waited for what felt like several minutes.

  “Did you do it right?” she whispered.

  Grayson put his finger up to his mouth, giving her the quiet sign. And then raised one brow, obviously exasperated that she would think to question him.

  The doors opened, revealing the group of four standing just outside the elevator doors waiting for them.

  “Good evening, Rachel,” Ms. Florentine said. “It is always very good to see you. Please…come forward.”

  Ms. Florentine’s eyes were magnificent, almost otherworldly. Rachel had never seen eyes so clear. Kiri’s voice rose and dipped in smooth waves, the air pungent with a melancholy joy. She breathed in the scent of the aria emerging from her memories as it enveloped her in a warm assurance that beckoned her to move forward, Ms. Florentine all the while motioning for her and Grayson to enter their space.

  They seemed different, now embodying a serenity that Rachel hadn’t noticed before. Each took their place at the table, choosing seats closer to her and Grayson than during their previous two visits. The data readout displays were still on the wall, but there were more of them. Many more.

  Beyond the opposite end of the long table, beautiful fabrics had been pulled back to reveal a “viewing.” “Viewing” was the only word she could think of for what was before her. It wasn’t a screen or a display panel. She didn’t know what it was, but she couldn’t stop looking at it. Someone touched her hand and she turned to see it was Grayson.

  “We should probably pay attention now, don’t you think?” he whispered. His attempt at humor seemed ill-timed to her, but she smiled and sat up straight.

  It was quiet. Ms. Florentine, Ms. Gold, and Mr. Glass appeared to be waiting for Mr. Randal to speak. Mr. Randal stared ahead, blinking every few seconds, cocking his head one way and then the next, and pursing his lips together in concentration. Rachel watched, imagining with fascination what might be going on in Mr. Randal’s consciousness. He see
med to be listening again. And then he turned to her and spoke.

  “Rachel, you are here to observe,” said Mr. Randal.

  “Sir?” Rachel was confused.

  “Observe, my dear. Pay attention,” Mr. Randal said as he swept his arms up and apart as if to direct her focus toward everything at once.

  She wanted to look at the “view” first, but forced herself to look around from the back of the room to the front and then down the other side, taking in all she could while remembering not to try too hard. Extraordinary effort would ruin it; she knew that. She needed to surrender to seeing what called out to her. This wasn’t the moment to overanalyze and muffle the voice of insight.

  As she gazed across the data readout panels, she realized that the further she looked down the wall to her left, the sharper the image, each subsequent display delivering crystal clear visuals of what appeared to be real-time transmissions. At one point she recognized a pattern she’d discovered while working as a data forensics tech a decade before. They didn’t have near this quality of definition back then. It was unique and momentary, never to be repeated. Could it be video? Impossible. How could she be seeing it now as a real-time transmission? She skipped a dozen or so panels to the two displays located directly to her right.

  “Oh…” Rachel gasped, took a breath, and exhaled with a slight tremble. She could feel Grayson’s eyes searching her face for answers. Bizarrely, Mr. Randal began humming the melody of the aria. Rachel didn’t understand what she was seeing. She wasn’t afraid. It was something else.

  “You’re doing fine, my dear,” said Ms. Florentine.

  Rachel saw an aggressive array of predatory disrupters thwarting the successful completion of data transmissions. Just like what she’d seen earlier today. No. Exactly what she had seen earlier today. The same exact transmission patterns. Impossible.

  Was she seeing real time transmissions that occurred today, and others occurring one moment over ten years ago…all at once?

  Rachel scrutinized the data read outs, working her way down the row analyzing one display and then the next, each subsequent readout more fuzzy than the previous. She continued down the line, finding no last panel to mark the end. They continued, endless into a limitless…something. Were these future moments? Or were these predictive patterns extrapolated from historical data? That couldn’t be right. It didn’t explain their apparent infinitude. She stretched the capacity of her sight to the last panel that was still somewhat discernible. Big movements, shadows, and a lesser sense of furious activity. It “felt” balanced; beautiful and ordered. It was as Grayson had said: like seeing through a glass darkly.

  Sitting back in her chair, she noticed Mr. Randal held an anticipatory posture, as if expecting her to continue.

  “What is the meaning of this?” she asked.

  Mr. Randal hummed. Ms. Florentine gestured toward the “view.”

  The view had an odd movement about it. Images faded in and out, all conveying intimately familiar thoughts and memories. An elderly woman, covering an infant with a beautiful handmade quilt. A young father sitting near a window, staring off across a city with a faraway look in his eye. A woman in a white lab coat, focused and intent. A little girl standing in front of a house in Chicago. A young woman dressed in fatigues keeping watch from behind a corner in a burned out house. An adult woman dressed to the nines strutting across the driveway of a swanky hotel and getting into a limousine.

  And then another. Rachel recognized herself, but the image was blurred. She was sitting at the head of a long table in a poorly lit room. Other forms, mostly men, sat around the table. One stood at the other end of the table, addressing the group. Somehow, Rachel knew that she was the person the others were looking to for…something. But what?

  It dawned on her. The father? Hers. The elderly woman? Her grandmother. The woman in the lab coat, her mother. And she was the little girl. The “view” was her. All at once.

  Rachel closed her eyes, trying to absorb what she’d seen.

  Mr. Randal stirred. “Rachel, it will be hard; hard to hold on, hard to climb, hard to let go. Know that you are not alone.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Calm Before

  Grayson touched her hand again, this time to escort her to the elevator. Mr. Randal and the other three stood as she rose from her chair, silently wishing her all that is good, and for her to carry a heart of courage moving forward into her future. At least that’s what Rachel felt as she walked toward the door: an overwhelming sense of good intentions toward her.

  The doors closed. Grayson was silent. Rachel’s head spun with wonder and confusion mixed with a giddy hopefulness. It was a completely irrational state of mind, yet seemingly appropriate. After all, she’d just witnessed an illogical, nonsensical peek of life across something boundless. A forever time, yet deeper than that. Her logical mind was having none of it, but her soul had found an opportunity to speak, and speaking it was.

  The doors opened to the lobby. “Good evening, Mr. Raphael,” the doorman said.

  “Good evening, Robert. How are you this evening?”

  “I’m well, sir. Thank you for asking. The driver will be here any minute. You’re welcome to wait in the sitting area and enjoy some coffee or tea. I just put a log on the fire.”

  Grayson looked at Rachel to ask if she was interested.

  “Sure, why not?” Rachel asked. “Some hot tea sounds good to me.”

  “Well, all right. Yes, Robert. We’ll take you up on that. Thanks,” Grayson said.

  Grayson prepared two cups of Ginger Peach tea and sat down across from Rachel. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

  Rachel looked up at Grayson and grimaced. She wasn’t ready to talk about it. “About what? I mean, which part?”

  “Any part you want. I’m here to support you, remember?”

  Rachel thought back to their conversation. He was her grace given. “I know you are. I’m okay, really. It was just a lot to take in…all at once.” She smiled, chuckling at her choice of words.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Get it? A lot to take in all at once?”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Come on, Grayson,” Rachel said, suddenly not so sure he knew what she was talking about.

  “Look, I don’t know you very well, and I don’t know what you saw in there, but your face…it was so different. It’s like you left.”

  “What do you mean it’s like I left?” Rachel asked.

  “It just seemed like you were somewhere else. I don’t know. It was as if you were taken up into something.”

  “Grayson, did you hear Mr. Randal ask me to look around? I did. Didn’t you?”

  “Sure I did, but I didn’t notice anything unusual.”

  Rachel was puzzled. He was right there and he didn’t see it. “Grayson, I can’t explain it, but I will say this: the group of four functions above and outside of our continuum of time and space. But you knew that.”

  “Yes, I know that. What I’d like to know is what you saw.”

  “Let me put it this way. I told you about the data readout display, right? It gives a single transcendent all-encompassing real-time view of all the data transmission activity across the globe. Technically, that’s not possible.”

  “Okay…I’ll take your word for it. Go on.”

  “So…what I saw in there was like the data readout display, but on steroids. Major steroids.”

  The doorman walked up to the sitting area. “Mr. Raphael, the driver is here to pick up your guest.”

  “Thank you, Robert. He must have gotten stuck in traffic.”

  “I don’t think so, sir. He made very good time. It was exactly ten minutes ago that he called to say he would be here, and as you can see by the clock, he’s right on time.”

  Grayson looked at Rachel and smiled. “Of course, what was I thinking?”

  Grayson walked with Rachel out to the main lobby area to meet Peter. “I have a limo lined up for tomo
rrow morning. I’ve asked that we be at The Kimberly at 7:00 am,” Grayson said.

  “That seems a little early, doesn’t it?”

  “Not if we want to stop for coffee and conversation beforehand,” Grayson said.

  “I look forward to it.”

  “It was my pleasure to drive you, Ms. Wheaton. Really! I had time to hang out with my friends and make my dad happy, all at the same time,” Peter said.

  “Yes, there’s a lot of that going around,” Rachel said.

  “Pardon me, Ms. Wheaton?” Peter looked confused.

  “Oh, nothing Peter. I’m glad you were able to make good use of the time. We got a lot of work done today, and your willingness to come pick me up made it easier.”

  Peter pulled the town car up to the front of The Kimberly.

  “Don’t bother, Peter. I can get out,” Rachel said.

  “I insist,” Peter said, as he quickly exited the vehicle and came around to the passenger door. “Have a good evening, Ms. Wheaton.”

  “Thank you, I will. Goodnight.” It was cold outside. Rachel made a quick dash for the lobby hoping to stop at the fire for a few minutes, only to find the lobby filled with people, a bunch of business types attending some kind of reception.

  Feeling around the bottom of her bag for the room key, she remembered she had new digs to look forward to. The room had not one, but two fire places. Excited to spend some time exploring her new temporary home, she headed straight to the bank of elevators, slipped into one that was empty, and took a long leisurely ride to the 28the floor. The doors opened up to the quiet and seemingly empty floor, the hallway enveloping her with a cozy sense of safety. She’d be able to relax tonight.

  Rachel startled to wakefulness at the sound of the room phone.

  “Yes?”

  “Good morning, Mrs. Hancock. This is your wake up call.”

  Hancock? Oh…right. “Amir? Is that you?”